


Lazy (I)

by zulu



Series: Lazy [1]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: 07-03, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-25
Updated: 2007-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:03:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lisa works hard for what she wants. Greg lets what he wants come to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazy (I)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by Leiascully

**Lazy (I)**

From high school onwards, Lisa Cuddy knew how her life was supposed to go, and she worked hard to make it happen. She organized study groups, made appointments with her teachers to discuss assignments, joined extracurricular activities for her college applications, and in short, worked her ass off to get what she wanted. She ended up as class valedictorian, and she went on to Michigan without ever once looking back.

Now she's where she meant to be, and nothing's changed. She stays up nights with her books until she knows the material cold before every lecture. She steps up in her seminars and makes herself heard. She's fighting tooth and nail to be first in her class, and it's a battle she intends to win. She's going to be admitted to her top pick for med school, or batter down the dean's door to find out the reason why.

The reason, if it turns out there is one, might be Greg House.

It's midnight, and he's spread out across her bed, lying on his stomach wearing nothing but a pair of wash-faded jeans. He's too long for her student-housing bed, and his bare feet are sticking off the end, waving idly when he stretches, like a cat, extending his entire body and then settling back into the warmth of her blankets. Her best pillow has been squished into service under his crossed arms, and he's resting his head on his forearms, turned towards her. He's drowsing, only half-awake, but whenever she looks over he's watching her. Sleepy eyes. Bedroom eyes.

Lisa bites her lip and forces herself to turn back to her lab report. She's supposed to be thinking about chemistry, not about Greg's back, all lean muscles and tanned skin tapering down to his hips. Not about the way the line of his spine dips right before it runs under the waistband of his jeans. Especially not about his eyes, how he blinks slowly at her as if he can't get his fill of looking, as if falling asleep would mean he'd miss something.

"You'd rather be over here," he murmurs, and Lisa realises he's caught her looking.

"I need to finish this," she says. She does. But it could wait. It's knowing that, knowing that she could slide out of her clothes and into bed next to him, knowing how she could feel the heat of his body against her skin as she leaned in to kiss the point of his shoulder, knowing that the only thing holding her back is the fact that she promised herself she'd get this done tonight--all that makes it even harder to concentrate. Molecular chirality is getting mixed up in her mind with Greg's hands--his long narrow fingers, the strength of his touch.

Greg hmms into his arms, a low sound that catches somewhere between a yawn and a moan. He smiles, and his eyelids flutter closed. The line of his lips is softer when he's tired, the scowl-lines on his forehead smoother. "You're not getting much done," he says, and there's a definite note of smug satisfaction in his voice.

"Interrupting won't help me go faster," she says, a bit more sharply than she meant. He's just too damn tempting, and he knows it, which makes it worse.

"It's not due until Friday." He knows her schedule. She switched out of his TA section when...this...started; it seemed like the right thing to do. But he knows anyway. "Lise, you know this stuff," he says, and he's wheedling now. He rolls over, leaving one hand propped behind his head, and rests the other on his stomach. His eyes are hooded, the blue darkened and deep, not as sharp as usual. She's half-turned in her desk chair, her chemistry book nudging her elbow, but she forgets it completely when Greg's hand slides lower, his fingertips rubbing softly at the line of hair that disappears under his jeans. She licks her lips quickly. Her report's probably full of errors that she should have caught, but she really can't be expected to do homework under these conditions. Her breathing's turning shallow. She's so tired she feels shaky and halfway drunk, and she's getting wet just from the thought of Greg's mouth on her.

"You're tired," he says, and he flicks the button of his fly open with his thumb, and with a twist of his hips he's pushed his jeans lower, taking his cock in his hand. "Come to bed."

Lisa would roll her eyes, but she can't quite look away. "To sleep the sleep of the innocent, I'm sure," she says.

"Mmm." Greg's eyes drift closed as he squeezes himself, slowly, his hand moving like he's half-asleep still, and waking up to a morning erection and the prospect of unhurried pleasure.

"You never had to work, did you?" Lisa asks, exasperated. "You never study."

"I have better things to think about," he says, and he slants a heated look towards her. "You."

"You look like you're having enough fun on your own." Lisa resolutely turns her back on him, but she can't help listening. Greg is breathing deeply and evenly, almost as if he's still asleep. But there's the soft brush of skin on skin, and every now and then, he lets out a sound like an interrupted sigh. Lisa manages to pick up her pen, but the brief thud of his pants hitting the floor makes her turn around again.

Greg is beautiful naked. There's no other word for it. His legs are long and well-shaped, his arms and chest muscular from hours of rowing. His cock rests on his belly, swollen and curving slightly, and Lisa remembers the weight and length of it against her tongue. Greg runs his fingers over his stomach, until his nipples tighten and there's a spray of gooseflesh along his arms. He's teasing himself as much as her. Waiting.

Lisa wants him. There's no point in denying it, or in putting it off. He's right, as usual, that she's not going to get anything done with him there.

When she stands up and turns to him, he smiles up at her, warm and languid. "God, Lise. Could make me come just watching you," he says.

"You're no help," she says repressively, but it's pointless; he's won, and she's already letting her clothing fall away. The room is cold but she knows how much heat there is in him. He's like a furnace, and she could just lie next to him soaking in his sleepy warmth.

"The answer to number four is 'enantiomer'," he says, his smile crooking slightly at the corners. Lisa climbs on top of him and takes his hand, pulling it away from his cock. He tugs her arm to his mouth, and his breath is warm on her skin. He holds her gaze as he grazes open-mouthed kisses against the thin skin of the inside of her wrist. He licks and sucks gently, as if he can't be bothered to rush, to pull her down on top of him like he has other times, until she's clawing at him to fuck her harder and he's growling obscenities into her ear. Not now. There's a hint of roughness on his lips, and his tongue swirls against her pulse. Lisa shivers and lays down on top of him, and he's so warm, just as she imagined. She pulls her arm back and finds his mouth with hers.

It's midnight but Greg kisses her like it's a Sunday morning in spring, with the windows open and the sun pouring over them, and no place to be or go or do. Lisa cups his face with a palm, to touch the grain of his stubble where it's coming in, and to turn his head so that she can kiss him even deeper. His tongue moves deliberately, and it's the only part of him that does. He doesn't reach to touch, to hold her. Lisa sighs and stretches so that she's in contact with as much of him as possible, and he's hard against her belly, but he kisses like it's the only way left to figure her out.

Lisa's the one who moves. She strokes a hand along his side, filling her palm with the solid mass of him, and he murmurs something into her mouth. She loses the words, but they don't matter. He slides his hand out from behind his head and strokes down her back, until he's holding her ass. He rolls his hips upward, just once, just enough, and Lisa moans and pushes back.

"Greg," she says, and even his name slows when she speaks it. There's no need for urgency. There's only wanting him, moving against him, his hand finding her breast now and his fingers rubbing across her nipple and it's good, and she lets her mouth fall open in a silent gasp, swaying into him.

Greg's hand moves lower, down her belly, and then his fingers slide against her cunt and Lisa breathes hard into his shoulder. He shifts his hand, and then his middle finger finds her clit and Lisa doesn't even think before she goes still against him. Just. His finger moves, a quarter-inch at a time, back and forth, so fucking goddamn slow. They're barely moving, but they're both panting like they've been running for miles. When she comes, it's like a rolling breaker, flowing over her and sliding back slowly, leaving her wet and shuddering.

"Fuck, Lise." Greg rolls her to her side and draws his mouth over her collarbone. "Come on."

Lisa has to stretch across him to reach the drawer where she keeps the condoms, but Greg just keeps on kissing every part of her he can reach. The dip of her waist, the ticklish line just under her ribs, the crease beneath the soft weight of her breast. He takes the packet from her and rips it open, rolling the condom on with the same languorous ease that he's displayed all evening.

"Now," she whispers, when it feels like she's been waiting forever, and Greg rolls her over and holds himself up on one elbow. With the other hand, he guides himself into her, and she's so wet and swollen from her orgasm that he feels like silk. She stretches and sighs a bit, and Greg rests on both hands so that he can kiss her and arch into her, both at once.

Then, it's all small shifts and Greg's breath against her ear, and Lisa clenches down on him until he groans. His biceps flex, and he's watching her, blue eyes with nothing but her desk lamp to illuminate them. Lisa slides her hands down his back, her fingers finding sweat in the dip of his spine, and then she pulls him closer, and they're still again, _waiting_, and then with a shudder Greg thrusts into her, deep and hard, and she touches the place where their bodies meet until she comes again. Greg groans when he reaches orgasm, and Lisa kisses him, tasting salt. He rolls off of her, taking care of the condom, and then he curls into her--the bed is ridiculously tiny but she doesn't care and it's clear that he doesn't either.

Lisa's eyes are already closed and she's sliding along the border between sleep and waking when he murmurs, "I study the best things," in to her hair. "Chemistry."

She huffs a laugh, and falls asleep buried in the heat of his body, as if she never has to wake up to more than this, than him.

_end_


End file.
